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Sunday Letters

Lying under blank face of life
my words rolls round upon my finger tips
now i stumble in my blank page
where yellow dairy notes whisper
my Sunday letters.
Feathers of summer syllables
dance upon, overwhelming silence of mine
The emptiness of begger's bowls
is heard once more.

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Sunday, March 15, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: nostalgia
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Indranil Bhaduri 22 March 2015

Mindblowing words.. Loved it.

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